


Stealing Moonlight

by Freya_Ishtar



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Divorced Hermione Granger & Ron Weasley, Drama, Eventual Smut, F/M, Gen, Not CC compliant, Older Woman/Younger Woman, Romance, Soulmates, Werewolf Biology, Werewolf Courting, epilogue-compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-03 20:03:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17290493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freya_Ishtar/pseuds/Freya_Ishtar
Summary: At 26, Teddy Lupin drinks too much, parties too often, and can't seem to get the hang of NOT breaking girls hearts. When he drunkenly admits a secret he's not shared with anyone else to recent-divorcee Hermione, she worries for his safety. And when he later reveals what he THOUGHT he'd told her, she worries for his heart . . . and her own. SPORADIC UPDATES





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 1) This fic features an older woman/younger man romance dynamic. I understand that is uncomfortable for many fanfic readers, but I don't believe it's fair that people are completely on-board with a younger woman/older man pairing that has the same relative age gap, but suddenly balk and run away when it's reversed. That being said, very simply, if you don't like this idea, please read no further, as I do not deal with harassing comments from people who willingly choose to read something they have already determined they do not like.
> 
> 2) This fic is NOT CC compliant (and none of my fics ever will be).
> 
> 3) My characterization for Teddy Lupin is my own, but is inspired by a recent share in the FaceBook Marauders' Fan Group, The Shrieking Shack Society, about James and Sirius losing their shit in the afterlife over Remus' son being a blue haired punk who spends far too much time snogging in dark corners.
> 
> 4) Updates will be sporadic, chapter lengths will vary (some will near 5k words, some will be under 2k).
> 
> 5) Epilogue complaint, but the canon compliance literally ends where the books do. Post-DH canon will not apply to anything in this story.
> 
> * Yes, my fancast for Teddy Lupin is Tom Hiddleston from when he was in his mid-20s. Hiddles is typically my Remus, and I imagine a strong family resemblance.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any affiliated characters and make no profit, in any form, from this work.

**Chapter One**

"Will you look at that? He's startin' to celebrate going out to drink by gettin' pissed beforehand," Horatio—Tom's son and now-proprietor of The Leaky Cauldron—said as he eyed the person who'd just stumbled into the establishment.

He'd meant to say it under his breath, but the witch seated directly before him at the bar heard him all the same. Furrowing her brow, Hermione looked over her shoulder.

"Oh, bloody hell," she whispered as she popped off her stool. "I'll handle him."

Shaking her head, she crossed the pub floor and folded her arms under her breasts as she waited for Teddy Lupin to collect himself and straighten to his full height. When he did, she could hardly say she was surprised that he laughed at the sight of her _severely_  arched brow. These were the days she felt she might well be channeling Severus Snape from beyond the grave.

In his inebriated state, Teddy'd lost control of the coveted trait he'd inherited from his mother and his hair was flickering through colors in an almost dizzying whirl.

"'Mione! Why the sour face?"

Her shoulders drooped at his tone. His voice was entirely too chipper, and she recognized this. It was the same way he spoke whenever . . . . "Dammit, Teddy," she said with a sigh. Slipping her hand 'round his wrist, she guided him to a booth. "Honestly, I took a sabbatical to help Rose settle into her new flat, not to look after drunken wizards."

After she had him seated, and sat herself across from him, he held out his hand for service.

"Oh, you must be joking!"

"I most certainly am not," he replied while blinking a few times in rapid succession. As a witch bustled over to take his order, he asked, "D' you want something?"

"I do not!"

Chuckling, he turned a beaming smile on the waitress—who, as Hermione knew she would, blushed and giggled at his flirtatious expression. "I'll just have a pitcher of pumpkin ale, and a shot of Fire Whiskey for the lady."

Shaking her head, the  _lady_  in question frowned. "Teddy, I just said I don't want—"

Teddy fixed his gaze on hers and offered an exaggerated pout. "Humor me."

"Fine.  _One_ shot," she said, rolling her eyes so hard her lids fluttered.

After the other witch started back toward the bar, Hermione leaned over the table a bit so she could speak quietly. "Do you have _any_  idea how lucky you are that I was here just now? What if you were too drunk to walk? Or if your godfather had been here rather than me? He does come here, too, you know."

Sighing, the young man dropped his attention to the table top. "I know. I just . . . I really don't know what I'm doing, anymore."

"Okay, all right." Hermione shook her head, once more, taking pity on him. "Who was it this time and how did it happen?"

"Marina Wood."

"Marina—?" she echoed frowning in disbelief. Oh, no. "Oliver's daughter. Unbelievable, Teddy."

He shrugged, but at least had the decency to look a bit abashed. "I didn't mean to hurt her, honest. I just knew it wasn't going to work and I told her as much."

Taking a deep breath, Hermione exhaled slow and then asked, "Before or  _after_ you found your way into her bed?"

His mouth dropped open as he again shrugged, looking away from her.

"Oh!" Propping her elbows on the table, she pressed her forehead against the heels of her palms. "Teddy!  _Teddy!_  You can't keep doing this! Bill still wants to murder you for how you left things with Victoire and that was years ago."

When she lifted her head from her hands, she found him wearing a contrite expression. His mouth twitched side to side as he held back on responding until the waitress had set their orders before them and bustled away, once more.

He knocked back his first pint, setting the glass down and refilling it from the pitcher. She only gaped at how fast he consumed that much alcohol.

"I didn't mean to hurt Victoire, or Marina, or Felice, or—"

"Any of the dozens of women and girls whose hearts you've broken since puberty," she said with a laugh. "I get it. I just don't understand why you keep doing it."

Teddy chewed at the inside of his lower lip in thought. Running his fingertip along the edge of his glass, he sighed. "I just . . . I know this is a shit thing to say, but I can't help it. I'm just good at the physical stuff, it comes natural." He frowned, shaking his head. He'd never been comfortable so openly discussing such things with anyone else, but Hermione always managed to set him at ease without even trying. "The emotional stuff? I'm just a bloody mess with it."

She watched as he turned his attention to her untouched shot glass. Seeming taken with a moment of whimsy, he dropped his hand from his own drink to walk two fingers across the table and nudge her Fire Whiskey toward her.

Picking up her drink, she held his gaze for a moment. "Then maybe just don't for a while." She downed her shot, wincing as she set down the glass.

"What? Don't date?" His speech was starting to slur a bit.

"Yes, that'd be what I mean."

"But . . . ." He frowned again, returning to tracing the rim of his glass. "I'm just . . . I'm so charming, and witty, and even when I try not to attract people, they just sort of pop up. And I _know_  I'm tall and easy on the eyes, which also doesn't exactly help in keeping anyone at arm's length."

"Yes, and let's tack humble onto that list."

Laughing, he shook his head. He spoke slow, trying to keep his words clear. "You know what I mean, I'm not trying to be full of myself."

"I know." Hermione couldn't help a half grin, unable to let him beat himself up for very long at all. "But I do think you're selling yourself short. You're also kind, smart, and thoughtful. And I think that side of you's what needs to come out to play a bit more when you're with someone, not just the side that's tailored to impress people."

"Oh, but that's all so complicated," he said in a petulant tone. Crossing his arms on the table, he dropped his head down. "I just can't . . . it's so _trying_ and so much . . . why can't I just date someone like you?"

Her brows shot upward. "I beg your pardon?" As if someone 'like her' couldn't stand to be with a handsome man who was witty and charming that he had to make some sort of special exception for them?

He groaned, resting his chin on his arm and meeting her gaze. "You know what I mean. Someone who just understands me. Nobody understands me, but you do. You've  _always_ understood me."

Hermione sighed. "And you're so drunk you probably can't see straight."

"Hell, I was that drunk when I stumbled in here."

The witch let out a surprised laugh. "Where d'you put it all? Good Lord, man!"

Teddy smirked, still staring up at her with those blue-green eyes of his. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I really am. I'm glad you're here, and I'm sorry I'm such a mess. You don't need this right now."

"Bloody hell," she said in hissing whisper. Clearly he'd heard, but then who hadn't by now? "Teddy, I'm fine. I don't want to talk about my divorce."

He sat up, his brows arching up as he grabbed his glass for a long sip. "People who are fine with things usually don't mind talking about them, you know?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You've really been spending too much time around me if  _this_  is how you think when you're drunk."

Snickering, he took another long sip as he held her gaze over the top of his glass.

Once more propping her elbow on the table, she dropped her chin into her palm. "I just mean I'm tired of talking about it. Ron and I are on good terms, we parted as friends. It's a tad awkward at family parties, sure, but it's not a painful thing. The pain is that everyone keeps acting like it  _should_ be a painful thing, like there's something wrong with me that it's not. I'm sick to death of trying to assure everyone that I'm fine."

"All right, she's fine," he said into his glass.

That was when it happened. His hair stopped flicking through colors, settling into his natural shade. Sandy blond with hints of red, she noticed. Must be the lighting. But he didn't typically let his natural color show. Bit childish for a man his age, but he enjoyed showing off, she thought.

"Uh-oh."

He tilted his head back, lifting his mouth from his glass rather than setting the glass down. "What?"

"Your . . . blond is showing."

His eyes shooting wide, Teddy grabbed one of his wild curls and pulled it down over his forehead to look for himself. "Oh, no."

When he was younger, Hermione always thought his natural color showing was a bit like the low battery warning on Muggle devices—it meant his body didn't have the energy to maintain the display. That he was still so animated just now was likely a byproduct of how very inebriated he was.

"You'll never make it home like this." Shaking her head, she stood up and circled the table. "Horatio? Do you have any vacancies where I can put this one in to sleep this off?"

His shoulders slumping, the proprietor nodded. He went to retrieve a key as she grabbed Teddy's arm and pulled him to his feet.

The wizard stumbled from the booth, nearly knocking Hermione to the floor. Laughing, he steadied her, and himself, before following her guidance to drape his arm around her shoulders.

"Hmm."

Frowning, she tipped her head back to look up at him. "Hmm?"

Teddy pursed his lips for a long moment before he managed to find the words he wanted to say. "You're so . . .  _little_."

She held in a scoffing sound. "I'm not little, you simply forget how tall you are when you're pissed."

"No, no, no, shhh," he whispered, pressing his fingers over her mouth in a silencing gesture that was just a bit rougher than he intended. "I don't mean it in a bad way. Just . . . you always . . . you've got such a big personality and such powerful magic that I forget you're actually kind of, well, wee."

Rolling her eyes as his fingers slipped away, she accepted the key from Horatio and started walking a teetering Teddy Lupin to the stairs. "I'll have you know I'm actually average height, but the polite term is  _petite_ , Teddy."

She didn't quite know how they managed—what with her  _wee_  self supporting his tall, lean frame as he stumbled along—but they made it to Room 13 without tripping over one another, or breaking anything. Hermione was hardly much of a drinker these days, and she couldn't say that she didn't feel the warmth of that shot edging her senses just now. Not nearly enough to skew her judgments, but just enough that she felt . . .  _nice_.

Teddy practically spilled onto the bed, and she immediately straightened up, arching her back as though she'd been carrying some incredibly weighty load for hours. "You're heavier than you look."

He flashed an irreverent grin, his eyes drifted closed. "I'm more muscly than you'd think from a quick glance."

She laughed, shaking her head as she busied herself with removing his shoes and pulling the covers out from under him. "And I see we've returned to you patting yourself on the back."

" But i's true . . . I could show you, see . . . ." His slurring voice trailed off as he clumsily reached for the hem of his shirt.

Her chestnut eyes shooting wide, she dropped the blanket and grabbed his hands. "No, no." Though, she couldn't help but laugh. He was  _so_  gone right now. "That's really not necessary."

His shoulders slumped against the mattress. "Oh, all right."

When she let go of him to get the covers, once more, he caught one of her hands in his. Pulling the blankets up over him one-handed, she sighed as she met his gaze.

"Stay 'til I fall asleep?" he asked, sadness edging his tone.

God, he was capable of breaking her heart with his voice, alone, wasn't he? He was just so lonely . . . .

A gentle smile playing on her lips, she nodded. "Of course I will, Teddy."

With a sleepy, but triumphant grin, he scooted over making room for her to sit beside him on the bed. Teddy didn't feel truly at ease, though, until he—his eyes closed, once more—felt the press of her sinking into the mattress. He breathed a quiet, relieved sigh as she shifted back to sit against the headboard.

As he was drifting to sleep, lulled by her unconscious action of delicately sweeping his wild curls away from his forehead with her free hand, he was caught with a spontaneous need to share something with her. The secret was killing him, maybe if he told someone—and as he'd said, she was always the only one who understood him—the burden would ease a little bit.

"Can I tell you something?"

Her brow furrowed. "Of course," she said again.

"I think the reason I can't make things work with anyone is because of my father." His father who he was always told he so resembled.

She studied his near-slumbering face for a moment before she could ask. "Why would you think that?"

"Because of what he was."

"Teddy, the lycanthropy curse isn't hereditary. If it were, you'd have had your first shift long ago."

"I know that. You're the one who suggested I study werewolves, remember?"

Hermione laughed. "Vividly."

His voice was no more than a sleepy tumble of words by now, but he continued, wanting to tell her. "But I mean, _something_  must carry over in the blood, yeah? I feel like it has to, because sometimes I just feel so . . . feral. Like I'm too wild for my own skin."

"I'm sorry, that does sound miserable. Have you talked to anyone about this?"

A smile curved his lips. "I'm talking to  _you_. I don't need some healer to poke about in my brain. I know what's wrong with me, and I know how to fix it."

She narrowed her eyes, a feeling in her gut telling her wherever his thoughts were heading, it wasn't a good direction. "Tell me."

"I'm an animal in human skin. I'm going to find a werewolf and get them to bite me. Let the animal out."

There it was. His words sent a spike of cold through her heart. "What? Teddy, no. That's madness. Your father . . . ."

Her voice trailed off as she heard him snoring. He  _wanted_  to become a werewolf? Clasping his hand between both of hers, she looked about the darkness of the room, dappled here and there by moonlight streaming through the windows.

In his state, he probably wouldn't even realize he'd told her this when he awoke in the morning. Drunk or not, he'd shared his secret with her in confidence, and it terrified her. She couldn't betray his trust, but she had to think of some way to deter him from this mad notion of his.

Once more an unconscious gesture, she curled her hands against herself, pressing his fist over her heart. Swallowing hard, she turned her attention to his sleeping face.

"Teddy Lupin, whatever am I going to do about you?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

When Teddy awoke to a slice of sunlight from the window falling right on his face—sweet Merlin, who the bloody hell positions a bed this way?—he winced. His head was pounding from overdoing things last night, and he was pretty sure he probably made a  _complete_  arse out of himself in front of Hermione, moaning on like that about his sorry excuse for a love life.

Come to think of it . . . .

Shielding his eyes with his hand to block that evil ray of illumination, he forced his head up. Last he recalled was her directing his attention to his hair looking all blond and boring. So how did he get up here?

He wanted to grab a lock of his hair in his free hand and pull it down to check that it was its usual vibrant blue. But that was when he realized he couldn't move his other hand. There was the sensation of fingers in a loose grip around his.

_Oh, no. Tell me I didn't do something stupid._

Teddy cringed as he turned his head to look beside him. Just as fast, his fearful expression died away. Curled up against the headboard was Hermione, sound asleep while she held his hand.

The peaceful look on her face caused his heart to thump hard in his chest a moment. Of course, she must've helped him up here and then, fool that he was, he'd begged her to stay. He wouldn't pat himself on the back about it, but she never did seem able to tell him no.

Shifting carefully on the bed so he wouldn't wake her, he pushed himself back. Though he had no idea how he'd done it, he managed to ignore the pain screaming in his skull as he leaned against the headboard beside her.

She looked so peaceful right now. So young—he knew she'd give him grief if he said that aloud, convinced he was only saying that to butter her up for something, but it was true. Other than some lines around her eyes and a few strands of grey mixed in her wild hair, she  _certainly_ didn't look eighteen years his senior.

Probably didn't help on that count that he never  _felt_  like that much separated them, either.

With a wistful grin, he reached out, his gaze on her slumbering face as he delicately tucked a tumble of her wayward hair behind her ear. God, she'd probably murder him herself if she had any idea how he felt about her.

"I wish I could tell you," he said, his voice barely audible in the early morning quiet of the room. "I feel like it's killing me to have to keep it inside."

She shifted a little in her sleep, then. Muttering something in a soft tumble of sound as she moved, Hermione pressed her shoulder lightly against his.

Teddy bit his lip, holding in a warm chuckle. She was constantly doing things like that, as though she was always aware of his presence, somehow.

All right,  _now_ he was sure his imagination was running away with him. "This calls for some strong coffee, I think," he whispered with a smile.

After propping a pillow in his place so she wouldn't fall sideways, he extracted his hand from hers in a delicate gesture. For a few heartbeats, though, it seemed he couldn't move. No, not that he couldn't he simply didn't want to. God, he was just being a stupid little boy in this moment, wasn't he? Not wanting to go anywhere because of how simple and perfect this was.

Not wanting to go because Lord knew when he'd feel this content, again. He thought he could probably sit like this forever simply watching her.

Giving his head a shake—that he instantly regretted, as it reminded him of the splitting pain behind his eyes—he practically yanked himself from the bed and left the room. Though, he could not help but pause in the entryway, listening to her soft little almost-snores before silently closing the door behind him.

He missed the way she muttered in her sleep, once more. A slight whimpering sound that surely would've had him running back to her in a blink, had he heard it.

She'd been dreaming of some peaceful scene. A gorgeous quiet night filled with stars and a fat, full moon hanging in the sky. The brush of cool grass beneath her bare feet and crisp evening air filling her lungs. She felt like she'd been running for the sheer joy of it . . . .

Running with someone beside her.

Then, there'd been an exhausted tumble of limbs against the grass. The pair gracefully accepted their exhaustion, catching their breath as they watched the sky together.

But then the one beside her was gone. And she couldn't help but press her nose to the ground to muffle a cry.

* * *

"Look who dragged himself out of his pitcher?"

Chuckling despite the way Horatio's booming voice sent a sharp spike through his head, Teddy pressed his fingertips against his temples. He let out a hissing breath. "G'morning, H'."

"Let me." The proprietor withdrew his wand, muttering something under his breath before tapping the implement against the center of Teddy's forehead.

_Hangover remedy charm, of course_ , Teddy thought with an inward smile. "Much better," he said with a sigh of relief. "Thank you. Now, if you would, two coffees,  _strong,_  and whatever your kitchen can pull together for breakfast."

"Two?" Horatio paused, mid-step in his turn toward the kitchen. "I thought I didn't see Hermione come back down those stairs last night."

The other man did not take kindly to the suggestive tone. "Perfectly innocent, I assure."

With a smirk, Horatio nodded. "Just teasin' mate. I know that lady's  _far_ too good to get mixed up with the likes of you like that."

Teddy offered a casual chuckle, nodding as he watched Horatio head off to put the order together. The moment he was alone, however, the mirthful expression slid right off his face.

"Tell me something I don't already know," he whispered with a frown.

* * *

Hermione awoke to the delightful smell of coffee somewhere close by. She blinked open her eyes slow, looking about before she moved. She knew she'd drifted off last night after Teddy had fallen asleep. She hadn't meant to, honestly, but she'd been so very tired with everything recently. Rose moving out, Hugo not applying himself to his studies at Hogwarts, and friendly parting or not, the divorce from Ron had required paperwork and reserves of patience even she wasn't sure she had. Then, of course, there was playing impromptu marriage counselor to Harry and Ginny. Fun life she was leading as of late.

She wasn't certain when the last time was that she'd fallen asleep so deeply. She never felt safe enough to, as though every time she'd let herself snooze too soundly, some bit of unpleasant news would await her upon waking.

For all her intellect, however, she failed spectacularly at pretending she had no idea why she felt safe here last night, especially when her gaze fell on Teddy lingering by the window. She always did feel comfortable—and somehow comfort _ed_ —just being around him, she supposed.

His hair back to an eye-catching hue, he leaned against the window frame. The wizard looked down on Diagon Alley while he sipped his coffee. She nearly snickered as she recalled him last night so determined to prove to her he had muscles.

She did manage to ignore the feel of warmth in her cheeks, just then—probably only over how ridiculous that moment had been, because she  _couldn't_ be blushing at the thought of him trying to bare himself for her benefit. When she cleared her throat to banish her own fleeting sensation of giddy awkwardness, Teddy jumped a bit.

"Did I sleep that long?" the witch asked as he turned to face her.

He smiled at the adorable display of her rubbing her heels of her palms against her eyes. "Not really, but I figured I probably put you through the ringer last night, least I could do was get you coffee."

Laughing softly, she nodded as she looked toward the night table. A tray set with a covered dish and a cup awaited her attention. "Look at that, you can be a gentleman," she said, taking the coffee and sipping before meeting his gaze.

With a nod, he took a seat on the edge of the bed as a half-grin curved one corner of his mouth upward. "Shh, don't tell anyone."

Hermione giggled into her cup, taking another sip. But then she remembered what he'd told her last night. She didn't want to mention it, she couldn't even know if he recalled that he'd shared that secret with her. But it scared her as much now as it had when the words had first tumbled from his lips.

She had no idea if she should bring it up or not. He had said he'd  _probably_ put her through the ringer, which meant he likely hadn't the foggiest idea what he'd said to her right before he'd fallen asleep.

Still waking up, she didn't realize she wasn't guarding her features. Her brows pinched together and bottom lip pulled into a thoughtful pout. The way she held the cup didn't hide her expression at all, either.

His shoulders drooping, he scooted closer to her. Setting his cup on the tray, he rested his hand over hers. "What's wrong?"

Hermione blinked a few times as she offered a shake of her head. "It . . . it's nothing, really," she said, dropping her gaze into her cup as she took a sip.

"Oh, c'mon, tell me." He grinned fully when his imploring tone drew a laugh out of her. He pouted and forced his brows upward as he tacked on, " _Please?"_

Again a laugh bubbled out of her. She set down her coffee beside his as she narrowed her eyes at him. "You're a little wretch, you know that?"

"Tough talk coming from a woman I could fit in my pocket."

"Oh!" Shaking her head, she snickered. She laughed so much when she talked to him. "No, no, nothing's wrong, really. I promise. But . . . ."

His expression sobered immediately, the grip of his hand tightening around hers a completely unconscious action. "But?"

Lifting her gaze to his, she only stared at him for a few moments. She chewed at the inside of her lip as she considered what to say. Not coming up with much, she decided to give him the floor as best she could.

"We're friends, aren't we, Teddy?"

He looked puzzled as he gave her a once-over. "Of course we are."

"And you know as your friend . . . you can tell me anything, don't you?"

His blue eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Yeah?"

"I mean  _anything,_  anything at all."

He started to drift back slowly from her as he watched her. "Hermione? Where's this coming from? What's this all about?"

Swallowing hard, her own eyes shot wide as she shook her head. "Oh, nowhere. You know how I just . . . overthink, sometimes. And, so, here I go, overthinking, again. Really, it's nothing. I just wanted you to know that if you need me, I'm here—"

"Oh my God," he practically shouted as he snatched his hand from hers and jumped up from the bed. Teddy was already pacing frantically—his long strides eating up the floor at such a quick pace it made the small room seem even smaller—before he continued. "I told you last night, didn't I?"

Oh, he was so stupid! He was so drunk and . . . she was probably sitting here pitying him!

Holding her hands palms-up, she climbed out of the bed, as well, facing him as he stomped about. "Look, Teddy, it's okay. Honestly! I think maybe if you talk about your feelings, it could really help—"

"I think I've done quite enough babbling on about my stupid bloody feelings, Hermione!"

"You don't have to shout!"

"I'm not shouting, you are!"

Never before had they raised their voices to each other. She thought she could feel tears clogging her throat as she said, "We have to talk about what you told me last night. I was going to leave it alone, but it's too important."

"You want to talk about what I said while I was drunk out of my mind? Okay, then.  _Let's_."

They started talking over each other in their rush to be heard. "Last night you told me you wanted to be a werewolf!" tumbling from her lips mingled with, "I'm sorry I can't help that I'm in love with you!" falling from his.

The pair stared at each other in silence for several strained heartbeats. Hermione thought she could feel the weight of the very air pressing against her skin as his words sank in. Teddy's gaze flicked over her again and again as though he could not comprehend her statement, or even his own.

"I told you I—"

"You're in love with me?"

Teddy snapped his mouth shut as he held her gaze. The delicate skin beneath his eyes pinched and she could see a sudden sheen of unshed tears swimming in his them.

"Yes," he said, his voice spilling out in a low tumble of sound. "I've sincerely tried not to be, but . . . ." He forced a gulp down his throat and shook his head. "My heart just keeps coming back to you. I should probably go, now."

"Teddy, wait . . . ."

But those long strides of his managed to carry him out of the room before she could even think on what she wanted to say.

Sitting back down on the bed, she tried to process what had just happened. She tried to process how his revelation made her feel.

Yet, all she could think about just then was how watching him storm out like that made her heart ache.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

_**Victoire's Wedding, Two Years Ago** _

"There you are!"

Teddy gave a start at Hermione's voice in a hissed, shouting whisper that seemed to echo through the reception hall's otherwise empty stairwell. He turned to look at the witch approaching as he exhaled a plume of cigarette smoke.

Her chestnut eyes narrowed as she looked from his face to the cigarette held loosely between two fingers, and back. "Thought you gave that up."

"I did," he said with a shrug before rolling his eyes. "But on rare occasion, I take it back up."

"Mmm," she breathed the sound as she nodded and folded her arms beneath her breasts. "Rare occasions such as a wedding where the bride's father can't stop looking at you like he wants your head on a plate?"

Snickering, he reached out with his freehand to tap one finger against the tip of her nose. "Precisely!"

Frowning, she swatted at his hand. "I know things are tense with you and Bill . . . and perhaps a few of his brothers, _but_ he is not the one who invited you here. Victoire sees you as a friend, even after what happened between you two.  _She_ wants you here. You owe it to her not to spend the night hiding in some corner."

"I'm not hiding in a corner!" Teddy somehow managed to sound indignant. "I'm hiding in a stairwell, there is a difference, 'Mione."

Her shoulders slumping, she snatched his cigarette from his fingers and stubbed it out on the railing. "C'mon, then," she said, ignoring the affronted sound he uttered at her presumptive gesture. "I'm in need of a dance partner, and you've seen Ron on a dance floor. My poor husband moves like he's stubbing his toe every other step."

Teddy snickered, shaking his head as she thoughtlessly grabbed his hand and started pulling him up the staircase. "Oh,  _that's_  what it looks like! And yeah,  _so_  glad I didn't have to be the one to say it."

Somehow, it seemed, the rest of the reception passed in a whirl of laughter and conversation shouted over the music. Of soft touches and perfectly timed steps. There was a fleeting moment during some story she was telling him about a fiasco at work, that moment when she crinkled the bridge of her nose and giggled as she spoke, that moment when he'd spun her just so and her dark eyes caught the overhead lights so they sparkled.

That fleeting moment when he realized he'd never actually noticed before how beautiful she was. That fleeting moment when he noticed that people were watching them dance as though they'd intentionally set out to make some grand display and it bothered him a little that he'd never before realized that every time she was near, whatever he did seemed to turn out perfect without much effort, at all.

As she spun back into his embrace, she spied the awkward, abashed grin curving his lips. "Now what's that look for?"

Teddy shrugged and cast a quick glance around them. "Everyone's staring."

"That's probably because my dance partner's the most dashing man they've ever seen."

_They? What about . . . ?_  He let the question in his mind go unfinished as he chuckled. "Somehow, I'm pretty sure it's not  _me_  that's got their attention."

For a quiet heartbeat, she only stared into his eyes. Nearly seemed as though she didn't understand his meaning. Then—though he tried to tell himself it was a trick of the light because she could never react that way to something  _he'd_  said—a blush flared in her cheeks.

"Well," she managed after an effort to gather her wits—honestly, she could not be stammering because Teddy paid her a compliment, that was ridiculous!—"again, I'd have to blame you. You just seem to have a way of making everything around you look good."

"Keep talking like that, young lady, and you'll make your husband jealous."

Shaking her head, she laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. He was the only person she knew who'd call a woman eighteen years his senior  _young lady_.

And then the night was over. As they parted ways that evening, she'd stood on her toes to kiss him on the cheek, and he'd jokingly warned her that if not for her husband watching them like a hawk, he'd have given her a good slap on the bum for her forwardness!

While she'd walked away from him, linking her arm through Ron's as he waited, and continued to the doors with Rose and Hugo in-tow, he found he couldn't help following her with his gaze.

Just when she was about to disappear from the room, she'd glanced back and granted him a smile. Such a quick, whimsical expression. It had stuck in his mind all night.

And then the next day.

And the next.

In the weeks to follow, he tried to banish the memories of anything more than feelings of friendship. Yet, every time afterward that they ran into one another, met at a family gathering, talked at all—even by owl when he'd been away for the holidays—it only built up feelings that were  _more_.

Only reflected each time he tried to make a go of it with some pretty,  _suitable_  witch his own age.

Only tore at him more every time he was her sounding board for her arguments with Ron.

Only made him more hopeful each time it seemed she looked at him with some pensive gleam in her eyes that she wouldn't share the meaning behind.

* * *

_**The Day Following Teddy's Confession** _

"There you are!"

Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin at Harry's voice ringing through the otherwise quiet space of Flourish and Blotts' upper level. Turning to glare at him with a stack of books in her arms, she gave herself a shake.

"Sorry," he said with a wince. "Tense, much?"

"Um . . . a little, I suppose. You were looking for me?"

"Yeah, Gin wanted me to track you down and make sure you haven't forgotten about dinner tonight."

She forced a grin and nodded. Of course, it hardly seemed as though Ginny and Harry could have a conversation without her there to referee these days. Her amicable divorce with Ron was a piece of cake by comparison.

She didn't think they needed a divorce, but perhaps a little time not being stuck in each other's faces. Though, she couldn't be the one to suggest that maybe being apart for a short while might do them both a world of good, they'd have to come to that conclusion on their own.

"I haven't, don't worry."

Even as she'd answered, trying for a light tone, Harry gave her a once over. "Do you want to talk about whatever's bothering you?"

"I don't know." Hermione shrugged. "Maybe, I—"

"Well, then, pick your books and let's go sit down somewhere."

Swallowing hard, she looked over the texts in her arms. All volumes about animal spirits, inner beasts, even transfiguration. Oh, she knew one could not control the form they took if they transfigured themselves into an animal—otherwise, why would Draco Malfoy have ever  _chosen_ to be a ferret?—but then, one's Patronus and one's animagus form were often the same, barring some earth shattering change to the witch or wizard's perception, of course. As far as she was aware, Teddy had never had reason to produce a Patronus, so . . . perhaps it would be a wolf, like Harry's had been a stag because of James.

But then, Lily's Patronus was a doe because James was a Stag—Severus Snape's was a doe because of his undying friendship with Lily. The same way Tonks' Patronus had become a wolf after she'd fallen in love with Remus.

For an odd moment, she found herself wondering if her Patronus, her faithful otter, had changed at all, over the years. What nonsense.  _Her_  perceptions hadn't changed because of some singular person in her life, of course she'd still have her trusty otter. Though, that was also why she'd never tried to transfigure herself into an animal, she didn't fancy the idea of puttering about as an otter.

If she could help Teddy produce a Patronus, and it was a wolf, perhaps she could use that as incentive for him to transfigure himself into an animal, and if the form he took mirrored his Patronus, he could apply for a license to be an animagus and perhaps he'd give up this wildly dangerous idea of his. That was, of course, if he ever spoke to her again after the way he stormed out of the Leaky Cauldron yesterday morning.

She ignored the way it hurt her heart to think of Teddy never speaking to her, again.

Trying to maintain her focus and not linger on any painful what-if thoughts, she made small talk with Harry as they trooped down the stairs and to the counter. Discussed little things that didn't quite matter as she purchased her books and bid the shopkeeper a pleasant afternoon.

Harry was a bit surprised when they found themselves at a table outside Fortescue's. It was late enough in the day that no one would look at them funny if they popped into the Leaky Cauldron for a drink, but she stubbornly insisted on a sundae, something about wanting to smother her troubles in sugar and chocolate syrup, rather than drown them in alcohol.

After she was half way through her too-decadent dish, she finally set down her spoon and sighed. "Harry . . . I'm going to give you a hypothetical scenario."

He arched a brow as he lifted his gaze from the bowl of death-by-chocolate in front of him. "Hmm? Okay, g' head."

Dropping her hands into her lap, the witch squared her shoulders and cleared her throat. "Okay . . . all right . . . um . . . okay—"

"Hermione!"

"Sorry." With another clearing of her throat, she forced herself to  _actually_ speak on the matter. "If . . . if you and Gin were divorced, and you, well, you learned that someone close to you had feelings for you, deep feelings . . . what would you do?"

Smirking, he chuckled. "Are you asking me to divorce my wife and run away with you?"

She knew he was joking, but rather than laughing, she only graced him with an arched brow. So severe of an arched brow, in fact, it seemed she might be channeling Minerva McGonagall.

"Okay, okay," he said with another laugh as he held up his hands. "I know you and Ron are still friends, and he'd still talk to you about something like this, so can I ask? Is it you or Ron having this . . . issue?"

"I really shouldn't say, and this conversation doesn't leave this table."

Harry tried not to puzzle over if that meant it was her or meant it was Ron. "Fair enough. Can you give me more details? Because a newly-single person finding out someone has feelings for them doesn't seem like something that would bother you this much."

She nodded, taking a thoughtful bite of her sundae before going on. "Okay, so say the person who's professed their feelings is  _younger_  than the recently-single individual."

Again, he held up his hands. "We are speaking of someone who's a legal, consenting adult here, aren't we?"

Her shoulders drooped and she made a disgusted face at him. "Ew! Of course, Harry! Dear God, you must think some really dark things about Ron and me if you could even ask that!"

"To be fair, you could've been asking how to let down easy some teenager with a schoolyard crush."

"I suppose that's true. But no. Legal, consenting adult,  _though_ considerably younger than the other party."

He nodded, determined to focus on the _hypothetical_  situation. "Was the age difference a big, noticeable matter between these two before this younger person's feelings came up?"

Hermione's brows pinched together. Now that she was thinking on it, the only time since he'd become an adult that Teddy's age registered on her was when she forced the words through her own head. "Not that I'm aware of."

"Then I think—"

"But it's not only that."

Harry waited, his eyes locked on hers. Again, he tried  _not_ to suss out which of the recently-divorced pair this situation was about.

"They're close to each other's families, so even considering that younger person's feelings could be problematic."

Well, that certainly didn't narrow things down, the Potter-Weasley-Granger clan was close with a _lot_  of people. Dammit, hadn't he already told himself not to try to figure it out?

Nodding, he set down his spoon and pushed his bowl aside. Harry folded his hands before him and held her attention very seriously. "I think the best thing to do is for the recently-divorced person to think about what it is  _they_  feel for this younger person. Age aside, every relationship has it's problems, you know that well. Let's assume the feelings are mutual. If these two people could make each other happy, then does it really matter what anyone else might think? Well, don't get me wrong, of course on  _some_  level it's going to matter how their families take it, but this person has to figure out how they feel. Figure out if what they _could_  have with this younger person is worth what they might suffer to make the relationship work. Could they have something that makes it  _all_ worth it?"

With a nod of her own, Hermione returned her attention to what was left of her quickly-melting sundae. What did she feel for Teddy? She hadn't even thought about that. She'd thought about everything else. Helping him with his werewolf problem, how embarrassed he probably was after what he'd said. How preposterous anyone else would tell her his confession was—that he was trying to get something out of her, or play on her heartstrings for some reason. She knew better, but still, his reputation for being a heart breaker didn't exactly help his case.

But she'd never actually considered her own feelings.

Never actually considered what had gone through her own head as his words had hung in the air between them.

She knew she felt safe when he was near her. She knew she felt calmed when she was aware he was close by—they'd always had a strange ability to talk one another down from a spiking temper—she knew she never felt like anything she said to him was wrong.

She knew it hurt believing he might never be _himself_  with her again. And she knew, as nerve-wracking as it suddenly was to think it, she had to find Teddy. She had to talk to him.

She had to examine just what it was, exactly, she felt when she was close to him.


	4. Chapter 4

  **Chapter Four**

"Well," a familiar female voice said from somewhere behind him, "don't you look like hell?"

Teddy's frown hardened as he stared into his glass. He couldn't recall how long ago he'd ordered it, he hadn't worked himself up to actually lifting his drink to his lips. By now he was watching slivers of ice that had been cubes what seemed only minutes ago continue to melt into the amber liquid.

Nothing had been right since he's walked out on Hermione like that the other morning. Now, he'd not spoken to her in days, and it was the longest he could ever recall not communicating with her in some form roughly since he'd turned twenty. That was probably partly on account of his deliberate avoidance of his usual haunts since hurrying out of Room 13 at The Leaky Cauldron.

Any place he might run into her, he'd steered clear of. That, of course, finally brought him to The Witch's Brew after caving to a desire to drown his pain in Fire Whiskey. She didn't come here, the place was newish, and already had a reputation for being somewhat rowdy. He'd felt safe here, assured he'd not have to see her.

But that had only led to this, him staring into his untouched drink like a great, useless lump.

With a sigh and shake of his head, he addressed Calysta Flint's question as the dark-haired witch popped herself onto the barstool on his left. "Prob'ly 'cause I feel like hell, Lyssie."

Reaching around his arm, she nicked his glass. Bit of a good gauge on just how miserable he felt that he didn't even voice a protest. "All right, what's wrong with you? What'd you do? Or, should I say who'd you do?"

He snorted a chuckle in spite of himself. Gratefully, Calysta was immune to his charms, seeing as she fancied girls. Oh, they'd not been friends at first, of course, but after enough times of sharing each other's dating woes over shots, a grudging bond had formed.

"No, it's . . . it's nothing like that. Well, kind of—wait, no, no."

She downed the nicked drink and made a face over how watered down it was on account of the melted ice. "Is it or isn't it?" she asked as she slammed down the glass and waved the bartender over for a refill.

Letting out another sigh, he allowed his head to tip back and stared daggers at the ceiling. Really, there was no reason he couldn't tell her what the trouble was, so long as he didn't give names. He could probably use someone else's perspective.

"I figured out why I'm so bad at relationships, Lyssie." Teddy shrugged, dropping his gaze miserably to the bar's lacquered surface. "I didn't want to admit it to myself, but I'm in love with someone I can't have and it made me just . . . not care to make it work with anyone else."

Calysta was silent for a few heartbeats. When he at last turned his attention to her, he found her watching him cautiously over the top of her glass.

Swallowing hard, she lowered her drink slowly. "It's not me, is it?"

He arched a brow. "Someone's certainly full of themselves. No, it's not you."

The witch relaxed in a blink and nodded, taking another sip before responding. "Thank Merlin. Okay. Well, why can't you have her? Is she married?"

"No."

"She doesn't fancy men?"

"No."

"She just doesn't feel the same way?"

"No . . . ." His eyes narrowing, he shrugged. "Actually, I don't know what she feels, but no. She doesn't feel the same way."

Calysta set down her glass and turned, bracing her elbow against the bar as she faced him fully. "How do you know? Have you talked to her about how you feel?"

"Yes."

"And she turned you down?"

A petulant scowl tugging at his features, he started picking at the edge of the bar with his fingernails. "No, not . . . not exactly."

"So what did she say, then?"

Teddy rolled his eyes. "I . . . didn't actually give her the chance to respond, I sort of just up and left after I said it."

Calysta blinked a few times and then looked into her glass. Was she the one drinking or was he? "If you didn't give her the chance to respond, then how do you know what she feels? Seems pretty selfish of you, if you ask me."

"Pretty sure I didn't."

She groaned. "Look, just because I fancy girls doesn't make me any less of a girl, myself. We tend to dislike it when someone throws their feelings at us and runs away. It's unfair, at the very least."

He fidgeted in place, but was obviously trying not to think over what she was telling him.

"I'll ask again. How do you  _know_  what she feels?"

His brows pinched together as he shook his head. "I . . . I don't."

Shrugging, she picked up her glass once more. "Then how can you be so sure she doesn't feel the same way?"

"Because . . . ." His eyes drifting closed, he let out a low breath. "Because it's me and it's her . . . ." God, even he heard the odd tone of reverence in his voice as he'd said _her_. "There's no way. She's too good for the likes of me, anyway."

Just talking about Hermione made his heart ache. He missed her mere presence so much he thought it hurt to breathe, just a little.

"Well, of course she is!" Calysta laughed and finished her drink. "Most women are too good for most men out there, the whole world knows it. Probably why I prefer them."

"Remind me why I even talk to you?"

"Because batting those baby blues of yours at me doesn't make my brain stop working?"

He nodded. "Fair point. So, still-working brain? What do I do?"

"See? This is why men are stupid," she said with a sneer. "The answer's right in front of you. Go talk to her."

Teddy winced as he exhaled an exasperated breath. Dammit, Calysta was right. With a nod, he rose from his barstool and turned away.

"Good luck," the witch called over her shoulder as she signaled the bartender for a refill.

He only kept walking. He'd go home, get some sleep. And first thing in the morning, he'd go talk to Hermione. At the very least, he owed her the chance to refuse his feelings to his face.

Except, of course, that fate had other plans.

When he arrived back at his flat, he spied someone sitting on the floor beside the door. His eyes narrowing as he made his way down the corridor, he almost didn't believe it when he saw that it was Hermione. She'd fallen asleep with her back against the wall and a pile of books in her lap.

Snickering under his breath—she was just too much for his heart, sometimes—he whispered, "Whatever am I going to do about you?"

From the books, he guessed she was here to talk about his werewolf problem. Probably some attempt to get past his confession. She'd probably act like it hadn't even happened and simply focus on convincing him not to go looking for any werewolves.

And perhaps that was for the best.

Quietly retrieving his keys, he unlocked the door and pushed it open. After watching the slumbering witch a moment longer, Teddy stooped down. Slipping his arms carefully under her, he lifted her—books and all—and carried her inside.

* * *

Hermione awoke in middle of the night. Giving a start as she realized she was not where she'd last recalled being—in the corridor outside Teddy's flat—she blinked while she looked about. She must've nodded off and . . . . Oh, dear. She was in Teddy's bed. She'd dragged him out of it to sober him up and get him to a family-function enough times to recognize it even in the dim illumination.

He must've found her dozing, scooped her up, and brought her in here.

A small smile curved her lips as she imagined the scene. Even as awkward as he probably felt around her right now, he'd done that. Lifted her in his arms, held her cradled against his chest . . . .

Her cheeks warming, she gave herself a shake and forced out a breath from between pursed lips. Well, that rush of heat was certainly something new. Not that she could very much blame herself. The last few days of trying to track him down had only given her time to think. Time to wonder what could happen if she considered his feelings.

Time for her imagination to run away with her.

Finally, realizing he was going to pains to avoid her, she'd decided she was going to wait at his door until he came home, no matter how long that might take. Even if he refused to talk about his feelings, she was still his friend, and she was still going to help him with this completely mad, completely terrifying, werewolf idea of his.

She had no idea how to feel about the idea that he might ignore his own emotions for the sake of salvaging their friendship. Disappointed? Hurt? Oh, hell, this was an awful lot of fussing over something she couldn't even know, yet.

Teddy was nowhere to be seen, she could only imagine he'd taken the sofa after settling her on the bed. Her eyes already adjusted to the darkness, she could see the books she'd brought with her stacked neatly on the bedside table. The blanket was pulled up over her, and she could tell that her shoes had been removed. A reverse of that night in The Leaky Cauldron. Well, except that she was sober.

Sitting up, she pushed back the blanket and climbed out of bed. Perhaps it wasn't better if they didn't talk about it, Hermione considered, as she padded across the floor in her socked feet. She'd come here on a bit of a mission, hadn't she?

She'd been determined to find out just how  _she_ felt about Teddy.

And now, here she was ready to ignore the entire situation? Not very Gryffindor of her to run and hide, even in a metaphorical sense, was it?

The last few days, left to her thoughts and her imagination probably had made it more difficult to sort fantasy from reality, which was why it was so very important to actually be in his presence as she considered her feelings toward him.

All of the other problems she imagined being attached to this were things she didn't even need to concern herself with if nothing came of it. Oh, but she was so very good at worrying.

Pausing in the doorway, she glanced back at the stack of books. Maybe she should backpedal and grab them, take them with her in case she woke him and he wanted to jump straight to anything other than complicated emotional entanglements.

She swallowed hard and gave her head a shake. No. If she brought the books with her, they would just be some convenient thing to hide behind. Not that Teddy's whole feeling-too-feral-for-his-own-skin problem  _was_ convenient, or wasn't a very real issue instead of a distraction, but it was a  _separate_  issue.

Okay, now she was just stalling. This had to be done. Nodding to herself, she took a deep breath and exited the room.

The short corridor from his bedroom to his living room seemed so much longer right now than she knew it actually was as she pushed aside a sudden urge to count her steps. To notice the shifting shadows along the floor as she moved along. To perhaps even note the cracking of the paint here and there were the ceiling met the walls. Anything to occupy her mind so she didn't think about the potential conversation ahead.

At last stepping out into the living room, she turned her attention to the sofa.

There he was, his lanky frame a bit too long for the piece of furniture,  so his feet dangled off the end. A blanket was pulled up across his face, and one long arm hung out over the side of the cushion.

She started toward him and then halted as she noticed that arm was bare. Had he . . . ? Was he sleeping without a shirt? Somehow the idea of having this conversation while he was in any state of undress seemed impossible.

Honestly, why had she talked to Harry about this? Now here she was, having gone from not even thinking about this at all to angsting for days over the possibilities, and she couldn't say at least one of those possibilities didn't involved being around him in various states of undress.

Oh, Lord, she was a  _mess_! A right bloody mess, and she couldn't do this right now!

She turned on her heel, the friction causing the wood to squeak under her. Her muscles bunching, she looked back over her shoulder at him.

That arm was moving, now. Swatting around in a lazy gesture, he eventually managed to grab the blanket and pull it down from his face. Teddy blinked a few times as the room swam into focus.

Hermione stood only a little bit away from him, her back to him and her gaze on him. Wide-eyed, like a . . . what was that Muggle term she used a few times to describe that sort of look? A deer caught in the headlights?

"Sorry," she said with a shrug as she pivoted back to face him. "I didn't mean to wake you. . . . Well, no, I did, but then I thought maybe I shouldn't, so then I turned around and—"

"Hermione," he interrupted, recognizing a Hermione-fret when she got one started. Merlin knew if he didn't stop it now, she could go on babbling like that for a good ten minutes. With a sigh, he sat up and pushed aside the blanket. "We have to talk. That's . . . that's why you came here, after all, isn't it?"

Oh, look at that, he wasn't wearing a shirt, after all.

Her brows pinching together, she cleared her throat and nodded. "Yes, um, yes, I did, but now I'm not so sure that's-that's a good idea. I, well, I brought some books to deal with your werewolf-thing . . . I'll just . . . I'll just go get them."

Biting hard into his bottom lip, he watched in silence for a moment as she turned away and started toward the corridor. Teddy had the most wretched sense that if he let her go and get those books, that was exactly what would happen. She would dive into them, and this conversation they needed to have would be pushed off, possibly to never happen.

And the uncomfortable tension absolutely choking the air of the room would get worse.

He wasn't often the brave one when it came to her, that was all her department. But it seemed she couldn't be brave just now. Their age difference had never mattered to him, but how could she ever return his feelings if he couldn't be the mature one for a change?

"Hermione, wait," he said as he stood up from the sofa.

The witch froze in place. She turned her head just a little, but not enough to actually see him. She could tell that he was crossing the floor to stand behind her.

"This isn't us."

Hermione furrowed her brow, but didn't turn toward him, just yet. "What do you mean?"

"This!" Teddy tossed his hands in the air. "You stumbling over your words, me avoiding you—I know you know I was doing that. The two of us not being able to talk to each other. We've  _always_  been able to talk, Hermione, and now we can't and it's my fault because I went and said what I did and I made things weird between us."

Her eyelids drifted shut and she let out a quiet, shaky breath.

He pinched tiredly between his brows as he exhaled. "It's not us to be this awkward around each other. I miss you and it's my own bloody fault."

Shoulders slumping, she still couldn't bring herself to move. "God, Teddy, this is all so . . . . I miss you, too."

His brows drew upward as he gave her a questioning once-over. "You miss me but you won't even look at me? This is going to be a strained conversation."

"No, no. It's not like that!" But she did feel even more awkward trying to have this conversation with a half-naked Teddy Lupin standing behind her. "It's . . . it's . . . . I need you to put on a shirt!"

"I—wait, what?" Looking down at himself, he couldn't help breathing out an airy snicker. Seeing as this wouldn't be the first time he'd been shirtless around her, he could only infer why she would have trouble talking to him like this  _now_. "I see."

"So, um, please, if you would?" She waved in the general direction of where he'd been laying on the sofa.

Nodding, he backpedaled and grabbed the first garment that rested atop his discarded jacket. "Look, if you came here to let me down easy, that's not really necessary." He pulled the fabric down over his head. "I'd really think I'd prefer it if we could find a way to go back to how things were, if that's the case. All right, I'm covered."

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and turned to face him. Only for her jaw to fall a little and a sudden inability to blink to overcome her. Teddy Lupin and his adoration of Muggle attire . . . . There he stood no longer shirtless, but in a  _vest_  . . . . A ribbed, white cotton vest that clung to his leanly-muscled torso like a second skin.

She winced, her expression pained yet adorable in a way that nearly drew a laugh out of him. "Oh, you've made things worse."

The way she was looking at him, her sudden awkwardness . . . . It wasn't his imagination. Something had changed in the way she thought of him since his confession. And not in the soul-crushing way he'd been so sure of.

He didn't know how they would manage to talk about feelings that were deeper, but he had to ask. He didn't think they'd be able to talk at all if they didn't address the elephant in the room.

She already knew she was his heart. What that meant to her, though . . . . He thought it might well kill him if he put distance between them before finding that out for a second time.

But this was so maddeningly superficial that he thought it odd it should feel just as significant as any deeper feelings.

"Hermione?" he asked, a look that bordered on disbelief pinching his features. "Are you attracted to me?"

Her gaze snapped up from the way it was unconsciously wandering over him to lock with his eyes. "Um . . . what?"

His brow furrowing as his broad shoulders slumped a little, he took a step closer. "I know you heard what I asked."

Those chestnut eyes somehow seemed to grow wider, still, as she watched him drawing slowly nearer. "Well, I, um, I just don't . . . I don't see what that has to do with anything. I mean, it's not reflective of anything . . . anything else, is it? Other feelings are other feelings."

At another time, in another discussion, he'd have chuckled at her verbal stumbling. But now, his expression remained serious, even somber as he reached her.

She looked so small staring up at him like this. So young-seeming for her age. So . . . innocent compared to his wild ways. She was so strong, maybe the strongest person he knew. How was it possible for her to seem so utterly powerless standing before him like this?

"Why won't you answer the question?"

Her mouth opened and closed a few times before she managed to get any words to form. She could barely control her breathing just now—God, just a week ago she never would've thought she'd feel like this—that she could muster the ability to speak was a wonder all its own.

"I . . . I don't think I need to."

Teddy nodded. "You're right."

A pleading whimper worked its way out of her throat as he sank his fingers into her hair and pulled her to him, his mouth capturing hers.


End file.
